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"clemente" poems
Ozzie Smith, Yazstremski, Dave Stieb and Robin Yount these men were of a special group It's one I'm proud to count There's players who achieve a goal While others just achieve They set a standard for the rest In their heart they just believe The game is full of heroes Men depended on each game They all have certain attributes And we all know them by name Kaline, Ripken, and Wade Boggs The Carters, Joe and Gary They're men who inspire us They have a reputation tough to carry To be a man of character You must be better than the rest You have to be a leader If you ***** up, you must confess Baseball doesn't make you one For character's within You just learn how to channel it Bring it out from where it's been Now, Cobb, Ruth and McLain Were characters as well But, not the kind of characters That we are here to tell They had a reputation One that is not lost upon the game But, to say that they had character Then you would not speak their names Tom Seaver and Clemente Thurmon Munson, Sparky too Were men who set examples Of exactly what to do To build a reputation One that shows character and heart Is something time consuming It's built of many parts To do the right thing once Is not the thing I want to see But to do it right consistently That defines character to me There are so many examples Of players in this group But there are ten times as many Who miss the homer with a bloop Baseball brings it out in you It doesn't put it there You show what you are made of By definition....to be fair Williams, Maris, Dimaggio Robinsons, Jackie and Frank They played with an integrity You could take it to the bank If you want to be a winner Please do this if you can Be a man of character Not a character of a man. ..
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Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 1:08 PM UTC
Man of Character
Ozzie Smith, Yazstremski, Dave Stieb and Robin Yount these men were of a special group It's one I'm proud to count There's players who achieve a goal While others just achieve They set a standard for the rest In their heart they just believe The game is full of heroes Men depended on each game They all have certain attributes And we all know them by name Kaline, Ripken, and Wade Boggs The Carters, Joe and Gary They're men who inspire us They have a reputation tough to carry To be a man of character You must be better than the rest You have to be a leader If you ***** up, you must confess Baseball doesn't make you one For character's within You just learn how to channel it Bring it out from where it's been Now, Cobb, Ruth and McLain Were characters as well But, not the kind of characters That we are here to tell They had a reputation One that is not lost upon the game But, to say that they had character Then you would not speak their names Tom Seaver and Clemente Thurmon Munson, Sparky too Were men who set examples Of exactly what to do To build a reputation One that shows character and heart Is something time consuming It's built of many parts To do the right thing once Is not the thing I want to see But to do it right consistently That defines character to me There are so many examples Of players in this group But there are ten times as many Who miss the homer with a bloop Baseball brings it out in you It doesn't put it there You show what you are made of By definition....to be fair Williams, Maris, Dimaggio Robinsons, Jackie and Frank They played with an integrity You could take it to the bank If you want to be a winner Please do this if you can Be a man of character Not a character of a man. ..
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61
This is a very special day in Bulgaria, my friends. Here - http://www.balkanfolk.com/news.php?id=23 - you can read more on it. marigolds marigolds San Clemente* and the sun that is opening we will lose ourselves before they find us in the eternal searching for ourselves (and the mind again steps over us) did you recognize the happiness Ahasver** marigolds (like an epoch) San Clemente and I am bowing The original: невени невени Сан Клементе и слънцето, което се разтваря ще се загубим преди да ни намерят във вечното си търсене на себе си (и мисълта отново ни прекрачва) позна ли щастието Ахасфере невени (като епоха) Сан Клементе и се прекланям *In one lateral chapel there is a shrine with the tomb of Saint Cyril of the Saints Cyril and Methodius who created the Glagolitic alphabet and Christianized the Slavs. **Wandering Jew; the name Ahasver is adapted from Ahasuerus the Persian king in Esther, who was not a Jew, and whose very name among medieval Jews was an exemplum of a fool /from wikipedia/ Translator Bulgarian-English: Vessislava Savova rarebird © bogpan - all rights reserved.
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May 23, 2011
May 23, 2011 at 11:34 PM UTC
24 May - The Day Of Slavonic Alphabet, Bulgarian Enlightenment and Culture
Nitong nakaraan, naging nostalgic ako sa mga new year na nagdaan, mga new year nung bata kami, and sa new year na dadating pa. Oo sobrang saya ngayon, hindi rin naman mapapantayan ang saya! Pero alam ko na iba na siya. Ibang-iba na siya―kasi noon, kumpleto pa kami at wala pang nawawala samin. Kumpleto pa ang mga lolo at lola namin. May mga fireworks display, sinturon ni hudas mula sa kanto hanggang kabilang kanto. Isinasampay pa ung sinturon ni hudas sa katawan namin tapos magppicture kami, may trumpilyo, luces tapos isusulat ang pangalan sa daan, maging yung ray-gun na paputok meron din. May mga pagkain pang nakalagay sa la mesa dahil naghahanda ang mga lola. May ham, tinapay, hot choco, at kung ano-ano pa na pati mga kapitbahay namin doon din kumakain salo-salo ang lahat! Meron din sayawan sa kalsada mga 90's na tugtugan "don't cry" sa gitna ng kalsada. Habang sinasalubong ang taon, we played this game na "thankful for 2022, and looking forward in 2023" with cousins and titos and titas while drinking wine and alcohol til we drop. Ang saya mapakinggan yung mga bagay na pinagpapasalamat nila at mga bagay na nilo-look forward nila lalo yung mga things they share about our family. It means so much na pare-parehas kami na support sa isa't-isa at ramdam yung pagmamahal sa bawat isa. Sabi ng isa kong tita, darating daw yung time na baka maiba na dahil siyempre magkakapamilya, career, ibang paths to take, na baka yung iba di na mag new year sa Clemente. Pero sabi niya sila ay nandiyan pa din dahil yun ang gusto nila. Oo alam ko pwedeng mangyari dahil na-experience ko na sa mga kaibigan ko. Dati palagi kaming magkakasama tuwing new year at pasko. Mahal namin ang isa't-isa na kung pwede nga lang palagi kaming magkakasama. Pero siyempre iba-iba kami ng mundong ginagalawan at tinatahak, may lumipat ng bahay, may mga pamilya na din kaya bihira na lang din kami magkasama sama. Nakakamiss! Hindi ko alam ang future, pero sana lahat kami nandito pa din magkakasama, isang buong pamilya na magkakasamang haharap sa panibagong taon habang nabubuhay kaming lahat! Masaya ako na na-experience ko ang pasko at new year sa Tondo! Marami akong ipinagpapasalamat hindi lang sa 2022, kundi magmula 1992! Alam ng puso ko kung ano yung mga bagay na yun hindi ko maisa-isa, basta alam ko masaya lahat at grateful ako sa family na ibinigay sa akin ni Lord. Hindi man kami mayaman, madami man kaming pagkakaiba-iba, pero solid mahal namin ang isa't-isa. Looking forward to 2023 and more! **
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Jan 3, 2023
Jan 3, 2023 at 2:05 AM UTC
New Year 2023
Nitong nakaraan, naging nostalgic ako sa mga new year na nagdaan, mga new year nung bata kami, and sa new year na dadating pa. Oo sobrang saya ngayon, hindi rin naman mapapantayan ang saya! Pero alam ko na iba na siya. Ibang-iba na siya―kasi noon, kumpleto pa kami at wala pang nawawala samin. Kumpleto pa ang mga lolo at lola namin. May mga fireworks display, sinturon ni hudas mula sa kanto hanggang kabilang kanto. Isinasampay pa ung sinturon ni hudas sa katawan namin tapos magppicture kami, may trumpilyo, luces tapos isusulat ang pangalan sa daan, maging yung ray-gun na paputok meron din. May mga pagkain pang nakalagay sa la mesa dahil naghahanda ang mga lola. May ham, tinapay, hot choco, at kung ano-ano pa na pati mga kapitbahay namin doon din kumakain salo-salo ang lahat! Meron din sayawan sa kalsada mga 90's na tugtugan "don't cry" sa gitna ng kalsada. Habang sinasalubong ang taon, we played this game na "thankful for 2022, and looking forward in 2023" with cousins and titos and titas while drinking wine and alcohol til we drop. Ang saya mapakinggan yung mga bagay na pinagpapasalamat nila at mga bagay na nilo-look forward nila lalo yung mga things they share about our family. It means so much na pare-parehas kami na support sa isa't-isa at ramdam yung pagmamahal sa bawat isa. Sabi ng isa kong tita, darating daw yung time na baka maiba na dahil siyempre magkakapamilya, career, ibang paths to take, na baka yung iba di na mag new year sa Clemente. Pero sabi niya sila ay nandiyan pa din dahil yun ang gusto nila. Oo alam ko pwedeng mangyari dahil na-experience ko na sa mga kaibigan ko. Dati palagi kaming magkakasama tuwing new year at pasko. Mahal namin ang isa't-isa na kung pwede nga lang palagi kaming magkakasama. Pero siyempre iba-iba kami ng mundong ginagalawan at tinatahak, may lumipat ng bahay, may mga pamilya na din kaya bihira na lang din kami magkasama sama. Nakakamiss! Hindi ko alam ang future, pero sana lahat kami nandito pa din magkakasama, isang buong pamilya na magkakasamang haharap sa panibagong taon habang nabubuhay kaming lahat! Masaya ako na na-experience ko ang pasko at new year sa Tondo! Marami akong ipinagpapasalamat hindi lang sa 2022, kundi magmula 1992! Alam ng puso ko kung ano yung mga bagay na yun hindi ko maisa-isa, basta alam ko masaya lahat at grateful ako sa family na ibinigay sa akin ni Lord. Hindi man kami mayaman, madami man kaming pagkakaiba-iba, pero solid mahal namin ang isa't-isa. Looking forward to 2023 and more! **
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You open your mouth and engulf the San Clemente Mission in flame, Bonfires and breeze and look how you’re little Miller High Life escapade gets out of hand, Look at the aftermath. You saw it coming. You predicted the beforemath. Go ahead. To mentors, you’re wrong no matter what, Go on ahead. To friends, you’re always circumstantially correct. You’re led astray. You’ll have to hide under the pier after this. “I’m Sorry miss, you have to leave.” Cue Grammy nominees for Reality Check and Now She’s Bawling category. [Name Undisclosed] in… (sound of planes releasing chemicals on brushfires), I’m hoping for a small mistake, And granite skin, And I’ll learn. Until then, a bonfire sounds novel.
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May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 5:42 PM UTC
El Camino Car Crash.
i like the sleepy towns by the sea. there is an acceptance of life, that rolls in with the clouds, pushed by a salty breeze. the gulls understand this, as they keep searching. the beach and the waves know they are where they should be.
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Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 1:55 PM UTC
San Clemente
Tyler Clemente: age 18. Billy Lucas: age 15. Harrison Chase Brown: age 15. Cody J. Parker: age 17. Seth Walsh: age 13. who gave you the right to judge these boys? It's pretty ****** sad. You think you're a clean-cut, all-American, but you really ain't so clean.
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Jul 26, 2011
Jul 26, 2011 at 8:46 PM UTC
Make it stop.
En la amplitud benigna del contorno y rompiendo el mutismo del paisaje flotan como poema de consuelo las estrofas metálicas de las torres parleras; retratan el matiz de la llanura en su inmóvil pupila las vacadas dispersas en la margen del río que abandona en su corriente sus vellones de armiño y refleja del puente en las columnas su música de acentos virgilianos; y parece que el alma de las cosas más imponentes del nativo suelo me saluda con voces fraternales. El rumor de una interna clarinada resucita del fondo de mi mente a los preclaros héroes del terruño y me siento orgulloso de la sangre que hincha mis arterias juveniles; miro que están en pie los viejos muros de la casa paterna y con los hilos frágiles del sueño reconstruyo el momento de la dicha; las jardines fragantes disipan con sus prados luminosos las obstinadas nieblas de mi invierno, y con su nota azul me torna alegre la familiaridad de las montañas. Vuelvo otra vez a tu clemente asilo, tierra de amor donde mis ojos vieron de la existencia las primeras luces, y al llegar a tu abrigo me conforto con el sano perfume de tus brisas; en el mudo jardín de mi tristeza evocan las escenas de la infancia de la dicha los pájaros locuaces; oigo la voz solemne del pasado sonar alegremente en el silencio de mis desolaciones interiores; y al ver el apiñado caserío que guarda entre sus muros paternales a la mujer que iluminó mi senda haciendo que brotara mi cariño en románticas flores, miro apuntar la aurora sonriente en la noche sin fin de mi congoja, charlando en los aleros de mi alma la errante golondrina del recuerdo. ¡Oh tierra bendecida que idolatro con el más reverente de los cultos, con qué júbilo inmenso reconozco la religiosidad de tus matronas y la hidalga nobleza de tus hijos! En tu regazo amante se mitiga el rigor de mis duelos incurables, me das el dulce título de hermano y con ansias anhelo, como en un insinuante panteísmo, ser el bronce que suena en tus esquilas, una roca prendida en tus picachos o un álamo llorón junto a las tapias de tu dormido y grave cementerio.
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El suelo nativo
En la amplitud benigna del contorno y rompiendo el mutismo del paisaje flotan como poema de consuelo las estrofas metálicas de las torres parleras; retratan el matiz de la llanura en su inmóvil pupila las vacadas dispersas en la margen del río que abandona en su corriente sus vellones de armiño y refleja del puente en las columnas su música de acentos virgilianos; y parece que el alma de las cosas más imponentes del nativo suelo me saluda con voces fraternales. El rumor de una interna clarinada resucita del fondo de mi mente a los preclaros héroes del terruño y me siento orgulloso de la sangre que hincha mis arterias juveniles; miro que están en pie los viejos muros de la casa paterna y con los hilos frágiles del sueño reconstruyo el momento de la dicha; las jardines fragantes disipan con sus prados luminosos las obstinadas nieblas de mi invierno, y con su nota azul me torna alegre la familiaridad de las montañas. Vuelvo otra vez a tu clemente asilo, tierra de amor donde mis ojos vieron de la existencia las primeras luces, y al llegar a tu abrigo me conforto con el sano perfume de tus brisas; en el mudo jardín de mi tristeza evocan las escenas de la infancia de la dicha los pájaros locuaces; oigo la voz solemne del pasado sonar alegremente en el silencio de mis desolaciones interiores; y al ver el apiñado caserío que guarda entre sus muros paternales a la mujer que iluminó mi senda haciendo que brotara mi cariño en románticas flores, miro apuntar la aurora sonriente en la noche sin fin de mi congoja, charlando en los aleros de mi alma la errante golondrina del recuerdo. ¡Oh tierra bendecida que idolatro con el más reverente de los cultos, con qué júbilo inmenso reconozco la religiosidad de tus matronas y la hidalga nobleza de tus hijos! En tu regazo amante se mitiga el rigor de mis duelos incurables, me das el dulce título de hermano y con ansias anhelo, como en un insinuante panteísmo, ser el bronce que suena en tus esquilas, una roca prendida en tus picachos o un álamo llorón junto a las tapias de tu dormido y grave cementerio.
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63
Nixon was spotted riding his bicycle through sunny San Clemente, California rehearsing his acceptance speech for the 2016 presidential election. Checkers had her paws clamped around Nixon's neck, holding on for dear life.
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Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 12:02 PM UTC
From The Strange Little Book of Not Nice Reincarnations
The moth is still there, in search of light on the table. And the glass is definitely there, And the moth does not understand. I lost the lighter no phosphoros only the hot water tank pilot And I have so many cigarettes! I must learn hindu, or imagine how they This "Brisas del Mar" does not have any of that and it smells like a dog. Today potato cake, I think well done. With black olives, morron, good layer of cheese The bottle was left in the sideboard with his cork and hood, unscathed and surprised It's just that I do not drink alone and a bottle is not a company. I call Pedro, Clemente's nephew Everything is fine, That the lagoon still does not freeze He awaits me when I want The address of Clemente 41º31.35 57 "S 68º 41.47 88 "O but I know how to get there, where today I would like to be. The music tonight sounds flat, It does not envelop me, I leave it anyway Maybe someone listens tonight better than me Kosova returned tired of the forest she has a hard time and it is hard for her to adjust. The same will fall asleep at thebottom of the stairs I called Pablo, I must give him the injection soon. There is no wind, there are no sounds, the incense defintively smells like a dog No offense to anyone I have to sleep, I'm tired, but I'm not sleepy .......
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May 18, 2019
May 18, 2019 at 8:47 PM UTC
One Night Bitcool
We’d make the journey, Hannibal-esque in nature, Either on foot (even on the most dogged of the dog days When the antidiluvian tar on our side street would bubble up, Causing our sneakers to make a rhythmic flik-wump Until we reached those byways deemed worthy of asphalt) Or in ones and twos on our bicycles, Our locks, assuming we were not the wards of parents Who were devotees of the shorn-to-the-skull “summer cut”, Flying unencumbered in the breeze As we paid occasional fealty to the rules of the road, Our destination being the “variety store” Shoe-horned into one of the narrow storefronts On our unprepossessing main drag, A cacophony of canned goods And candy bars of uncertain vintages, Novelty pens and girlie mags two-thirds obscured In jerry-built wooden shelves toggled together By some former paramour of the frowzy divorcee Serving as empress of this nickel-and-dime principality. We coughed up our dimes, hoarded and guarded With the feigned nonchalance of royal Beefeaters, In the procurement of Cokes, handfuls of Bazooka, And always but always trim foil packs of baseball cards, Which we’d unwrap breathlessly, greedily, hungrily, Hoping our efforts would unearth an Aaron, a Mays, a Clemente, But usually our reward would be some utility infielder, Some second-tier relief pitcher or third-string catcher Cards perniciously reeking of stale gum, And one particular summer it seemed every pack Contained the card of Larry ******* Burchart, Clad in his full Indians uniform, Smiling at some untarnished future Just this side of the horizon, fully visible and all but realized. At some point, we moved beyond banana bikes and baseball cards (Our attention turning to pursuits more expansive and expensive) Giving up children’s things and boys’ games and fanciful dreams) And looking back, it seems that the smile on that baseball card, (Ubiquitous as cockroaches at the time, Now mourned for its absence) Was more than a touch on the wan side, That apparition in the distance undefined and indeterminate Malignant in its very uncertainty.
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Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 2:41 PM UTC
muted notes for larry burchart, among others
We’d make the journey, Hannibal-esque in nature, Either on foot (even on the most dogged of the dog days When the antidiluvian tar on our side street would bubble up, Causing our sneakers to make a rhythmic flik-wump Until we reached those byways deemed worthy of asphalt) Or in ones and twos on our bicycles, Our locks, assuming we were not the wards of parents Who were devotees of the shorn-to-the-skull “summer cut”, Flying unencumbered in the breeze As we paid occasional fealty to the rules of the road, Our destination being the “variety store” Shoe-horned into one of the narrow storefronts On our unprepossessing main drag, A cacophony of canned goods And candy bars of uncertain vintages, Novelty pens and girlie mags two-thirds obscured In jerry-built wooden shelves toggled together By some former paramour of the frowzy divorcee Serving as empress of this nickel-and-dime principality. We coughed up our dimes, hoarded and guarded With the feigned nonchalance of royal Beefeaters, In the procurement of Cokes, handfuls of Bazooka, And always but always trim foil packs of baseball cards, Which we’d unwrap breathlessly, greedily, hungrily, Hoping our efforts would unearth an Aaron, a Mays, a Clemente, But usually our reward would be some utility infielder, Some second-tier relief pitcher or third-string catcher Cards perniciously reeking of stale gum, And one particular summer it seemed every pack Contained the card of Larry ******* Burchart, Clad in his full Indians uniform, Smiling at some untarnished future Just this side of the horizon, fully visible and all but realized. At some point, we moved beyond banana bikes and baseball cards (Our attention turning to pursuits more expansive and expensive) Giving up children’s things and boys’ games and fanciful dreams) And looking back, it seems that the smile on that baseball card, (Ubiquitous as cockroaches at the time, Now mourned for its absence) Was more than a touch on the wan side, That apparition in the distance undefined and indeterminate Malignant in its very uncertainty.
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